


Chronicles of Mr Black: A Quiet Christmas Season

by Gibbsgalsa



Series: The Chronicles Of Mr. Black [1]
Category: Foyle's War
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gibbsgalsa/pseuds/Gibbsgalsa
Summary: Foyle thinks he is free from Government red tape and he will have a quiet Christmas season. The best-laid plans... (Note: Multiple Chapter story, but new posts will be haphazard and random as life is crazy and fun is always the last thing on the list) (Warning if you don't like a possible Foyle/Sam relationship, this story is probably not for you...)





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Foyle had opened the windows to air his home in Hastings. It was the first time he had visited since returning from America. It was two weeks before Christmas 1947, and Foyle would be turning forty-eight years old this weekend. This would also be the first Christmas without a war in six years and where he was free of this new "cold" War.

Foyle smiled at the thought of finally resigning from public service, as he turned up the classical music on the wireless and continued to clean. He was looking forward to a quiet two weeks alone here in his home, and he hoped for a few mild days to perhaps cast his rod to find some trout.

Foyle knew that once Sam gave her notice in May, it was only a matter of time before his would follow. Christopher smiled at the thought of his former driver and friend.

He had called in on her in August, and she was very much pregnant. She smiled a lot, but he had a strange feeling she had not expected him to visit. He stayed only a short fifteen minutes, and she seemed relieved to have him depart. He put it down to hormones. Christopher had not revisited, though he had called her several times. She sounded utterly warm and welcomed him each call. The last time he called on her in September, he had talked with her father as Ian must have been visiting. Ian had said Sam was sleeping. Foyle had left a message with her father that he had resigned from the service. Sam was to get a hold of Andrew when the baby was to be christened. Christopher also conveyed to Ian that he was to be on a two-month assignment in France for a joint task with M5 and the International Criminal Police Commission. It had been a relatively easy assignment, and he had just finished.

Pausing Christopher wondered why Sam had not let Andrew know that the baby had been born. He knew that a christening did not always take place for even three or four months after the birth. But still, he would give Andrew a call and see if he had just forgotten to tell him.

A few hours later, having cleaned up and shutting all the windows, Christopher placed the poker against the fireplace holder and turned to the kitchen.

Foyle let the phone ring several times and just about gave up when he heard Andrew answer hello. He sounded as if he was running.

"Hello, Andrew," his son could hear the smile in his father's voice.

"Hello, Dad. Good to hear from you," Andrew returned, "Where are you calling from?"

"Good to hear your voice," Foyle returned, "I am back home in Hastings. Resigned for good, now."

"Wonderful, I assume you came by and missed me? I was sent up to Scotland for a few days and just now returned," Andrew responded.

"I did stop by," Foyle agreed, "Listen, Andrew, have you heard from Sam while I was away?"

"I called her a week after you left and she said she was to visit her Uncle, who was not well and would call when she returned," Andrew's voice faltered, "I am sure she must be back, but I have not called her."

"Well, I will give her a ring now and see how everything is, I am sure the Christening must be planned as well," Foyle hung up shortly after that and went to dial the Wainwrights.

Foyle hung up the handle on the phone scratching the side of his ear. Either Sam nor Adam had answered, and it was nearly eight in the evening. He would try them again in the morning. He would like to see how Sam was fairing. It had been almost six months since Foyle had seen her.

Over the next few days, he tried calling Sam to no avail. He rang at all different times when he finally decided to call her Uncle Aubrey. Foyle was relieved to have him answer.

"Hello, Reverend Stewart. Christopher Foyle here."

"Hello, Christopher, so good to hear from you. How have you been?" the reverend returned Foyle's greeting.

"I am fine. Thank you for asking," Christopher returned, "I hope you are well?"

"Yes, everything is fine," Aubrey informed him.

"I have been trying to speak with Samantha for the last few days, but no one seems to answer at the house. I wanted to know about the baby and the Christening."

"Oh she had a boy, named him after you, Christopher Ian Wainwright," Christopher smiled like an idiot as he listened to Aubrey, "I believe the Christening is to be sometime at the beginning of the year. Ian is to do the honours of course in Lyminister."

"Wull, that is good news," Christopher responded, "I will try to contact Sam and see what the exact date is. It was verry good to speak with you."

"Yes, excellent Christopher, I must ring off, but I will see you at the Christening."

Foyle smiled and dialled Sam's number.

To his surprise, Foyle was quite relieved to hear Sam's voice. He had been apprehensive, and that gave him pause.

"Oh, Mr Foyle, how are you?" Sam Stewart stated.

"I am very well, Sam," Foyle could not keep the chuckle out of his voice on hearing a happy Sam, "I hear that congratulations are in order. Your Uncle told me you have a new son."

"That's correct, Sir," Sam stated, "He is a whopper, at nearly two months, he is already twenty-five pounds."

"When is the Christening, Sam?"

"Mr Foyle, I am just finally sending the invitations this evening. It will be in Lyminister on Sunday, January 4th." Sam responded.

"Wull, I will most certainly be there," Foyle accepted.

"I would love to speak more, but I think I hear Christopher waking up," Sam warned him.

"Of course, give Adam my regards, and I will see you both on the fourth."

There was a pause over the line, and he thought the line was cut off, then Sam replied, "We should talk."

Foyle could practically see her thinking across the wire. Her voice sounded soft with much hesitation, "What is the matter, Sam?"

There was another long pause; Sam sighed, "The baby is waking up. I will call you back."

The weekend passed, Foyle had fished, and Sam had not returned his call, at least not while he was at the house. It was the evening of December twenty-third; he was tempted to dial her back but thought better of it. She would call him back, and he would find out soon enough what was troubling her. He had heard it in her voice, and Foyle knew Sam well. Sam would call.

It was not an hour later that Foyle, having settled in with an early scotch, heard a knock on the door. He raised an eyebrow and moved to answer the door.

Foyle greeted Sam with a nodding smile of welcome. Sam had a few bags and the child she was holding. She had the baby in one arm, a bag strapped to her other shoulder and a suitcase she had places down beside her.

Without saying anything, Foyle relieved her of the shoulder bag and took up her holdall. Christopher guided her into the house placed her things on the side in the hallway, gentle removed his Godson from her arms and nodded to the kitchen, "You be mother and make us tea, while I will acquaint myself with my Godson, Sam."

Sam smiled at Foyle meeting his eyes with her own with evident affection shining in them, "Of course."

Sam lit the range and place the kettle on the flame. She turned back to see Christopher Foyle unwrapping her young son, counting each finger and then each toe. She stared committing this moment to memory. She sat next to the pair, and Foyle looked up and gave her smile that reaches his eyes, and Foyle said, "You and Adam do good work."

Sam smiled back sadly, "Yes, didn't we?"

Foyle could practically read her face, "What happened to Adam?"

Sam nodded and eyed Foyle knowingly, "He had a bad heart. He died in September."

"Sammm," Foyle reached out his free hand and squeezed hers. After a long pause, Foyle stated: "You knew in August."

Sam nodded affirmatively and sighed. Foyle's look admonished her.

"I did not know how to tell you. Adam wanted everything normal. He did not even tell his mother. Adam did not even want me to know," Sam turned her hand over and held Foyle's hand and covered it with her other, "Actually, I am still quite angry with him. I know it was what he wished, but it wasn't right. Especially, not telling his mother."

"Sam, I am so sorry," Christopher had rocked the baby to sleep as they spoke.

Sam closed her eyes, "Well, I have Christopher at least."

They both smiled at each other and then down at the baby.

"Naming him Christopher, your idea?" Foyle asked with a small grin.

"Well, I told Adam in August, and he did not argue," Sam sighed, "He wanted to know why and I told him that Christopher Foyle was the truest and the best of men."

Foyle gave her a modest gaze and questioning look, "Did you now?"

"What I meant was that Christopher Foyle was the only man never to have let me down," Sam replied shyly dropping her gaze down at their joined hands, "I couldn't say that to Adam though, could I?"

Foyle stared at Sam trying to read her face, but her facial expression became blank and she looked down at the baby.

When she finally looked at him, Foyle squeezed the hand she had not yet released and said, "Sam, get us the tea. Then you can take the baby, and I will see to Andrew's room for you and him."

"Really? Are you sure I was planning to go to the Stag."

"I won't hear of it, Sam. Plenty of room," Foyle instantly rejected her suggestion, and he patiently waited for her to release his hand. He was not altogether uncomfortable with her keeping his hand, but he would not be the one to let go. They had little to no physical contact in the last nine years, and he had consciously and meticulously avoided touching her while he had been her employer. They were firm friends now, and she had lost her husband, Foyle was not about to reject any gesture from her.

"Thank you," Sam conceded with a small smile,

"You will stay through Christmas," Foyle smiled back at her. His eyes confirmed it was not a request.

"I'll insist on cooking though," Sam wore a full grin with her statement.

Christopher Foyle sat in his chair the next afternoon while gazing at a sleeping Sam. She was warmly wrapped up in a coverlet with her legs along the settee. To his utter amazement, he had spent the day with Sam, and baby Christopher. The joy he felt seemed so very odd.

He knew he had a soft spot for Sam after that first day when she had knocked his suspect cold.

He knew he loved her after she had contracted anthrax. He had thought it was a deep love, not so much romantic, but it would have destroyed him if she had died. He had a mixture of healthy guilt and responsibility regarding the whole affair.

Then, as she confessed to him regarding her posing for the Sir Spencer-Jones, Foyle did not know what to think as he saw the drawing. But as Sam explain how she felt shabby, Foyle did not feel jealousy, or surprise, but a deep anger and an extreme possessiveness that shocked him. He verbally consoled her, but he wanted to embrace and reassure her that he would look after her. Foyle had felt a very sudden anger at the man that had made her feel ashamed and had coerced his Sam. He would not have thought anything of it had Sam indicated that it was what she wanted to do. The man was lucky to have already been murdered as Foyle felt the enormity that she was his Sam.

That was the day, Foyle realised that his friendship for Sam had grown into an unshakable love. He was in love with Sam Stewart, and it was impossible. Christopher would never tell her; it would have been selfish and quite ridiculous. He knew Sam cared about him as a friend, but she was a sensible, young, and beautiful woman; she would have no interest in a middle-aged man such as himself.

So, Foyle took this rare opportunity to stare at Samantha Stewart sleeping peacefully in his home. He had handed her the cover and told her to doze off as he would listen for young Christopher. Sam gratefully smiled at him.

Christopher had insisted that Sam stayed over Christmas and he would take them out shopping this afternoon. He would need additional supplies for meals, and he planned to make this a very special Christmas for the three of them. He was delighted to have them. If there were a way, Christopher would keep them here. He knew there was a minimal possibility of this occurring nonetheless he set his mind to ponder on ways and means.

Sometime later, Foyle heard the whines of young Christopher, and he shot out of his chair and ascended the stairs to lift the young boy from the crib. The crib had been Andrew's, and Foyle had fetched it from the attic the night before.

Carefully, he rocked the baby and settled him in his arms as he went back down to the kitchen. He knew the baby would be getting hungry, but he did not want to awake Sam just yet, so he settled him onto his shoulder and walked the baby around the kitchen.

Thirty minutes later, Christopher looked up and saw Sam standing in the entryway of the kitchen, watching him talk to a fully alert baby. Not in baby tones, but in a man to man exchange.

Foyle winked at Sam and continued to address the boy, "You must at all cost be sure to eat as healthy as possible. Mum will stand for nothing short of a strong, tall boy as her helper."

Foyle continued with another full five minutes of advice such as taking up footballing very early, and that school was to be addressed studiously and with complete commitment. Baby Christopher was riveted with his voice, though he immediately screamed his head off at the sight of his mother.

Foyle gave the hungry young man to his mother, and she disappeared upstairs to feed him. Foyle busied himself with dishes and putting on the tea to avoid thinking about mother feeding her child. It didn't work all that well, and Foyle sat down and made a list of items he would need from the shops.

Sam was all for the outing, and he quickly bundled them up into the car and carefully drove down the lane to find the items on his list.

Foyle, Sam and the baby shopped, and Sam had handed over her ration book. Foyle winked at Sam as he said, "I caught several very nice trout a couple of days ago. So, we will have one for this evening."

"Jollly good," Sam returned with a smile.

Later in the afternoon, Sam started on peeling the carrots and potatoes as Christopher set about preparing the trout. The silence was as always amicable as they cooked their meal. Baby Christopher slept upstairs for his third nap of the day. Sam went to the sink where Foyle was washing his hands and leaning against the counter she touched his arm and stated, "This is very kind of you."

"A pleasure," Christopher returned. He gave her one of his small Foyle smiles and turned towards her sensing she had more to say.

"I told my father and mother I was working and could not go to Lyminister over holidays," she briefly looking at Foyle. She looked down at his shoes with a pause Sam continued, "I am actually working Boxing day, but I just could not bring myself to spend three days with my sister and brothers. But especially my mother. It is horrible to feel this way, but I don't know... I just felt …. like that they all would pity me and insist I come back… Mother already suggested I live with them… after the funeral…."

Sam sighed and glanced up to see Foyle's reaction. He looked at her as always, kind and interested, and he replied waving a hand, "I do understand. Rosalind's mother came to visit for a little while when it was just Andrew and myself. She offered to stay and raise Andrew; I could not agree to it. Her mother was nearly seventy at the time."

Sam listened intently as Mr Foyle rarely spoke of personal experiences. With just his look he conveyed his complete understanding and sympathy without pity. Sam eyed him and dared to ask, "Were you very angry?"

"Hmmm... No, no never angry. I was at first utterly shocked and devastated. She was my world and more importantly Andrew's. I was utterly dismal as a replacement," Foyle paused brushing her arm with his hand, "Sam, I was mostly sad at what I had lost. Why are you so angry?"

"I waited through the whole war, and I married Adam. I avoided any real involvement with men for six years, and now I'm still a widow with a child. Mostly, I'm angry that I not only have myself to consider but baby Christopher as well, so it is double important I do this right. I refuse to go back to Lyminister."

Foyle waited as Sam bit her lip and eyed him directly, "I feel a complete failure, and I'm an adult woman of thirty-two with a child. Most of all, I'm angry that my family treat me as still a child."

Foyle tilted his head at her in sympathy, but he returned his attention to the fish. Sam wondered if he thought badly of her for confessing such thoughts. She pushed her hands into the pockets of her dress as she heard Christopher respond.

"You know Sam, unlike your family, I know you are quite capable at handling the direst of situations," Foyle lifted his eyes to capture her doubtful gaze, "Do any one of them know about you contracting anthrax or the three near misses with explosives?"

Sam did not reply and looked away. Foyle nodded and stated, "Rright. So you see, Samantha. I have a completely different view of you as a person. Think you can do just about anything you set your mind to."

That brought her head back up as Christopher gave her a typical silent and questioning look. Sam smiled, "So your saying, I'm beginning a bit … hmmm…. sensitive about my whole situation."

"Have evvery right to be," Foyle agreed, "Just… hmmm … go along... how you mean to continue, your family notwithstanding."

Sam grinned at both the advice and compliment. Foyle felt her place her hand on his forearm and squeeze, "Thank you. You're always so… right..."

Foyle grinned back at her, "That's enough from you."

He washed his hands, gently patted her arm to move her away from the hob and lit the fire. Foyle set about frying the fish, and Sam moved to place set the table.

Sam heard young Christopher crying and went to tend to him, and Foyle finished the fish and placed it in the cookery.

Foyle heard the phone and went to answer it.

"Hello Foyle, Peter Harrison."

Christopher went very still as he heard his old undercover contact at Scotland Yards on the line. He bit his lip and looked around to make sure that Sam was upstairs. He had not heard from Peter since the arrest of Lapbert in 1931. To all who knew, Mr Charles Black, criminal and not criminal, had been told the fictional story that Black had escaped to eastern Europe with an international arrest warrant over his head.

"Peter," Christopher greeted with a very flat voice. Foyle wanted to place the handle on its cradle and pretend he had never picked up. Instead, Foyle put a hand against the wall and silently waited for Peter to continue.


	2. Chapter 2

Foyle put the receiver on the handle a few minutes before Sam descended the stairs with baby Christopher. She smiled at Foyle and sat on a kitchen chair.

Christopher returned the smile with a small one of his own. Needing a drink himself, he asked, "Sam, would you like to have ...hmmm … some Christmas Eve cheer?"

Sam was looking at him with an inquiring glance to which Foyle blandly returned her gaze. He was not about to divulge one second of his conversation with Peter Harrison to Sam. Even if he could, which, of course, he could not; he would not speak of it for a multiple of reasons. That main reason being that it was Christmas Eve. He was enjoying this unique time with Sam and, amazingly, his young godson.

"Yes, I will have a small drink," Sam agreed and watched as he left. He came back shortly with two tumblers and sat back down. Foyle held his glass silently up to Sam and tapped her whiskey as she correspondingly raised hers.

'Hmmm… sorry. But is everything alright?' Sam asked after a brief pause.

Foyle looked back tilting his head to the left, "Yes of course. Why do you ask?'

Foyle worried, bit his lower lip. Did he give himself away? He was confident he behaved above board, treating her as he had always done.

"Oh, I don't know... but you appear to be preoccupied…. as if you had something on your mind… I thought…"

Sam's voice drifted off not completing her sentence, and her eyes darted away from his.

"You thought what, Sam?" Foyle asked quietly and waited for her to look at him.

"Oh, I don't know… I thought perhaps… well, perhaps you were regretting asking me to stay. A small baby is not… hmmm… well, not everyone's cup of tea… and…" Sam's voice faded again though she kept her eyes on his.

Foyle shook his head negatively and smiled with relief, "No, Sam. Not at all. Christopher has been perfect. And wull… we have always rubbed along quite nicely… I am very glad of both your company."

Sam grinned saying, "Good!"

Foyle took a sip from his glass and crossed his legs comfortable preparing himself mentally to forget about Peter Richardson until the New Year.

Foyle, though, sat straighter and more alert, when he heard a knock on the door. Foyle bit his lip and gave a small smile to Sam, "Probably, a neighbour."

Christopher opened the door with great trepidation, hoping it was just a neighbour. Foyle was pleased to find Andrew on the doorstep with a very pretty young woman, standing in front of him.

"Hello, Happy Christmas, Dad. I thought we would surprise you," Andrew grinned at his father.

"Andrew, very good to see you," his eyes beamed at his son. Foyle stepped back from the door to let his son and his friend come in. Foyle discreetly took in the young lady's appearance and liked what he saw, "Happy Christmas. Please come in." Foyle greeted the newcomers.

The girl passed Foyle and Andrew grinned suggestively at his father's wide-eyed and inquiring expression.

Andrew stopped dead in front of Foyle as he heard the baby cooing from the kitchen. Now it was Andrew's turn to raise his eyebrow with a slightly confused express, "Dad?"

"Sam's here with the baby," said briefly and nodded his head to the left, "Hmmm .. kitchen."

The three of them moved to the kitchen, and Foyle went to slip past Andrew. Christopher smiled again at the new arrivals and held out his hand, "I am Andrew's father."

"Dad, this is Eve," Andrew smiled.

"How do you do, Mr Foyle?" Eve's linty voice was soft, and her eyes were bright and friendly.

"Very nice to meet you, Eve," Foyle nodded to his son's friend and waved at Sam, who was now standing up with the baby, "This is Samantha and her son… my godson, Christopher."

The ladies said hello to each other and Andrew took the baby from Sam, as Foyle moved to pull out a chair for Eve and went to sit next to Sam. Andrew caught the warning in his father's eye over the head of Sam.

"He is gorgeous," Andrew held the boy not quite as confidently as his father, which was only natural. Sam beamed back at him as he sat across from her, "Well, Dad, I've asked Eve to married me and was accepted. We decided to come down and surprise you."

Andrew eyed his father, and Foyle had the distinct impression Andrew was relieved to have Sam as a buffer. Ever the detective, Foyle assessed a delighted Andrew. Happily, Eve appeared to be a very grounded young lady.

Foyle rose from his chair and stepped around Sam to give Eve a brief kiss on the cheek and saying, "Wull, I am delighted. …. Congratulations."

Foyle took the baby from Andrew's hand and gave him to Sam, then turned and gave Andrew a heartfelt embrace.

"I think I have some wine," Foyle gave a small smile with a nod at Eve and went to the living room. He returned with the 1940 California wine, which he gave to Andrew and said, "I was able to get a case through customs. Your Uncle Charles was quite persuasive having it cleared; with special instructions for delivery to the Hasting's Police Department."

"Dad!" Andrew's voice rose several octaves in shock.

"I believe the Department will be using the six bottles I donated at the New Year's police banquet next week," Foyle's eyes twinkled at both women, ignoring Andrew.

The baby needed feeding which left the others alone in the kitchen. Foyle, in a brief and hushed tone, explained Sam and the baby's visit to the new arrivals.

Christmas Eve dinner easily stretched to four by adding extra vegetables and bread to the main fish course. Foyle sent Eve, Sam and the baby to the living room and urged Andrew to dry as he did the washing up.

"So, do you approve?" Andrew asked quietly glancing up from drying a teacup.

"Wull…., yes. Of course, Eve is very nice," Christopher said with a distinct gleam in his eye, "More importantly what you think…. I can see how you both feel about each other, so I'm quite happy for you, Andrew."

"Thanks, Dad," Andrew smiled back, "I met her in Scotland six months back, and well, I couldn't get her out of my head. She is a sister of a friend of mine that trained up our squadron. Anyway, when I met her again in London two months ago, everything…well… anyway, she is just perfect."

"I can see that," Foyle agreed with his son, giving him a knowing look.

After the washing was complete, the five of them sat in the living room as Sam moved to the floor with the baby laid out on a warm throw.

The evening progressed very well, and spirits were high as everyone took a turn entertaining or holding young Christopher, exchanging news and agreeing that they all would get up for the early service.

"Dad, I'll just go take Eve to the Inn, and I'll just stay on the settee," Andrew helped Eve on with her coat and took his off the hook, "I won't be long, but you needn't wait up."

"Wull, it's been a long day, you have a key," Foyle smiled at Eve, "Again very happy to welcome you to the family. I'll see you both in the morning."

Foyle returned Andrew's embrace and detected that Andrew was relieved that Foyle was not going to wait up. He winked at him before heading up to bed.

Foyle found himself in the same living room chair while Andrew and Eve sat in the settee, and while on the hearthrug, Sam had her legs folded neatly to the side leaning against the wall near the fireplace. Christopher had his godson securely in the crook of his left arm tilting him up for him to see about the room. It had been a full day with the service first, then the light banter while preparing the festive but minimalist Christmas dinner. Now they all were relaxing before the fire. Andrew and Eve were to leave by two, so they could visit her parents near Rye.

Christopher had found himself thinking about his phone call conversation with Peter Harrison last night, but he had promised himself that he would not give the situation any consideration on today of all days. Of course, when he heard a firm thump at the door. Foyle took a deep breath and stood up. He gave the baby to Andrew and with a brief nod, "I'll just go and see who it is."

Foyle opened the door and saw the very last person he expected to see.

James Devereaux or, rather, Jack Devereaux stood there in a sharp suit and a firm look on his face, giving only the merest of indication that he was nervous. Anyone other than Foyle would not have even detected the slightly tense hand movement at his side. Foyle had years of experience reading people. Christopher saw that Jack Devereaux was more nervous than when first they met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, wanted to finish this by New Years... missed that deadline - maybe Valentine's day. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Foyle reached his hand out to shake the young man’s nervous one, ‘Jaacck, very good to see you. Please … come in.”  
Christopher stood back letting the door open wide for Jack to step inside. Christopher knew he had said just the right thing as the younger man nodded and entered the hallway.  
“Thank you for seeing me, Sir. I was...” Jack started then stopped mid greeting as he heard laughter from the other room, “I hadn’t thought … so sorry to disturb you.”  
Jack made to exit the door Foyle had just shut, and Foyle said quite clearly, “Not at all. Please, let me have your coat. Do come in.”  
Foyle’s voice was soft and gentle sensing the young man needed a great deal of reassurance. Foyle waited patiently with an open and welcoming look. Pausing at the door, Jack nodded his assent. Foyle watched as he shrugged off his coat, the boy looked weaker than when Foyle last saw him in prison. Christopher kept his concerns internal and took the boy’s coat. At least it was a decent winter one, Foyle observed. It was very expensive and custom made. As he hung it, Foyle was only too aware of keeping his facial expressions neutral. Jack had something on his mind, and as he passed, Foyle felt the other man shiver.  
“Come in, we were about to have tea,” Foyle stated as they walked in the living room. Christopher paused as the occupants of the room stood to greet the new arrival, “Jaacck, let me introduce you. This is Jack Deveraux.”  
Foyle smiled at Andrew and caught his eyes in caution as he stepped forward to take the baby from his son. Andrew smiled back at both his father and the new arrival.  
“This is Andrew, my son,” Christopher kept any emotions from his voice as he said it. Foyle knew Jack was his son, but he could not give voice to it. It went against Foyle’s innate belief of right and wrong, and his overwhelming desire to at least acknowledge Jack as his son. To be able to claim his pride in both his sons, was an emotion Christopher had not expected to feel. He, also, did not in any way want Jack to believe he would not acknowledge him. Yet, Foyle could not acknowledge Jack without his permission; he knew through, his brother-in-law, Charles Howard, that Jack had taken over the estate of the man who raised him, Charles Devereaux. Foyle had no right to claim him publicly.  
“How do you do?” Andrew smiled in welcome, and if he shook Jack’s hand a little longer than was necessary, only Foyle noticed, “This is my fiancé, Eve Hillendale.”  
Sam, already standing, held her hand out and introduced herself, “Sam Wainwright, nice to meet you.”  
“And Sam is mother to this young man, my Godson, Christopher,” Foyle realised just at that moment this was not the quiet Christmas he had anticipated. He bit his lower lip and wondered at the odd turn the week had taken.  
Shaking his head, Foyle addressed the room, “I think tea is in order, yes?”  
“We ladies will prepare it,” Sam jumped in and offered, at the same time, she turned a questioning face towards Eve. With Eve nodding her consent, the girls started towards the door leaving the men alone.  
Andrew moved over to make a place for Jack, and Foyle sat in his chair with the baby.  
There was silence for a short half a minute before Foyle stated, “Sooo Jaacck, very good to see you again. I hope you were not looking for me in Hastings. Since I returned from America, I have been working in London and then the last several months in Europe.”  
“No, Sir, I have actually been in hospital myself the past several weeks,” Jack answered in his slow, quiet way. Foyle bit his lip and waited for him to elaborate, and after a moment, “I … hmmm… you said that I should contact you last we met, should I need anything and well, I just left hospital, and I did not realise what day it was… I wouldn't have bothered you had I known...”  
“No, bother at all,” Foyle firmly reassured him once again waving away any apology. Foyle hid a deep concern and wondered if Jack really should still be in hospital, noticing how pale he looked, “Let’s have tea and then we can discuss how I can help.”  
Foyle gave him a nod with a smile and the ladies returned with fresh tea and a very small Christmas pudding.  
“I have been feeding this for weeks. I vowed to have a truly authentic pudding this year, and for the last three months I have been plotting my ration card accordingly,” Sam grinned at Foyle as he watched as the flames flickered all around the desert, “Thanks to Uncle Aubrey’s contribution of the small bottle of brandy.”  
Conversation flowed easily, Foyle directing the conversation to the upcoming matches and new government schemes.  
The small group enjoyed the tea and pudding for a good thirty minutes, and they all finally agreed that Sam was brilliant with her rationing coup. Foyle noticed that Jack had eaten the dessert slowly and took a second cup of tea when Sam offered. Foyle caught Jack’s glance when he had finished, and Christopher nodded his head to the door.  
“Wull… it seems Jack requires my help with a matter, so if you all will forgive the interruption…” Foyle stood up waiting for Jack to join him, “When we come back, we all will discuss who is joining me for the New Year.”  
Foyle closed the door to the living room and placed a hand lightly on Jack’s shoulder, “Come along to my study.”  
Foyle bit his lip and hoped this would be a relatively short discussion that ended well.  
Foyle went to the front of his desk and placed a hand on the front edge and waited for Jack to come in and shut the door. Jack caught Foyle's glance, and Foyle gave him a small welcoming look. Foyle waited, and after a moment Jack broke their gaze, and the younger man started to walk a few paces before Foyle, looking at the office decor. Jack squinted and took in Foyle's commendations that Rosalind had hung there. He looked at Foyle as he paced to the other wall. There was a drawing of a tree and sunset by the river that Andrew had drawn, which Rosalind had framed, and they both had given it to him on his thirtieth birthday.  
“Andrew drew that for my birthday,” Foyle answered the inquiring look that Jack sent him.  
Jack nodded and moved on to the last framed paintings on the wall. There were several small ones around a larger watercolour of Rosalind’s. Jack gazed at it for long moments, looking at it, then stepping back taking it in at a distance and then moved closer.  
Foyle should not have been surprised at his next words, but for the life of him, Christopher had not expected Jack’s comment, “This is beautiful. How did you come by such a very large collection of Rosalind Howard's work?”  
Foyle blinked and moved forward to stand by Jack to take in his late wife’s paintings.  
“Hmmm.. she was my wife and... Andrew’s mother…”  
Jack stared at the painting for several long moments and turned towards Foyle, “My second year at Eton, I made up a lie to tell my father that I was invited to spend term break with a friend’s family. I think he was relieved not to have to arrange to be at the estates at that time. You see, then he did not have to appear that he was a caring father.”  
Foyle turned towards Jack meeting his eye, and Foyle waited for Jack to continue.  
“So when term let out, two of my friends and I switched trains. In the hustle and bustle of so many students, no one noticed that we all took the same train. We went down to London where my friend’s father had a flat. I had the most brilliant time that term break. I remember going alone to the National Gallery and spending three whole days there moving from one exhibit after another. I wanted to study Art at University. And as I am sure you are aware, your wife has a very small collection called “Devon by the Sea” there. In the British Impressionist area. They are lovely.”  
Foyle nodded, “Yes I have seen them. She drew those particular paintings at the age of fourteen. Her more famous painting of Princess Mary with the Land Girls in 1917 was used for reprint in Land Girl recruitment pamphlets.”  
“Did you study Art at University, Jaack?”  
“No, I was studying medicine when the War broke out,” Jack blinked and pushed a shaky hand through his hair, “Your wife? Did she die in the war?”  
“No,” Foyle bit his lip and shook his head, “She died in ‘32 from complications of the measles.”  
“I am sorry,” Jack swallowed and Foyle uncannily knew the boy was thinking of his own mother's death.  
Jack gave Foyle a sad smile and started, “Sir, I think that you are aware that I have taken over the Devereaux Estate,” Jack blinked and rubbed his hands over his arms, “I had an accident with one of the tractors in early November.”  
Foyle half closed his eyes in concern, “I take it that you are not quite recovered?”  
“Well, I did check myself out,” Jack returned his look, “You see, Mr Foyle, I am in unenviable position. I find that during my stay at hospital I was in need of blood. Charles Devereaux was only too glad to appear cooperative and agreed to donate his blood for the transfer.”  
Foyle's eyes narrowed further at what he suspected came next, Jack continued without breaking eye contact, “Last night, I overheard two senior doctors talking as I went out to get some fresh air. They were discussing how very odd that Charles Devereaux was AB blood type and I am type O. They were quite certain that it was impossible for those blood group to be related.”  
Foyle had thought he made it fairly clear in their very last conversation that he and Caroline Devereaux had a relationship. Of course, he didn't quite say Jack was his son. It had been impossible for Foyle to be too direct as a prison guard stood directly behind them.  
“Now, Mr Foyle you and I are not surprised at this. Unfortunately, I was convinced by the Devereaux Estate Lawyer and the Government to continue to work the estate. The land produces a large amount of meat and crops. At this time, it would add to the shortages should the land go to probate. Since I am the last known heir to the Devereaux estate and my cousin was lost in action just before the War ended, I saw no other way than to run the estate until my other cousin leaves Eton in three years.”  
Foyle nodded at the sound logic of his son’s action, “I see. Can I help in any way?”  
“Well, I would like some advice,” Jack bit his lip nervously, “You know my case and my father has been sentenced to life imprisonment. It has not been a pleasant few years as I have had to be careful to stay out of the newspapers.”  
Foyle had not been aware of Jack’s difficulties as he had left for America, “I have not seen anything in the newspapers, since I have been back from America.”  
“Well, yes, after the first twelve months and then finally the trial. These last eight months the newspapers have left me relatively alone,” Jack took a deep breath, “But, now I’m concerned that individuals may reveal the information of my blood type, intentionally or otherwise. This might come to light publicly.”  
“You are concerned in regards to the estate and it entering into probate?” Foyle gazed at his son, unsure how he could help.  
“Well, frankly, I had not thought of that,” Jack gave a bitter laugh, “In fact, I was concerned that the news might affect you. I’m very grateful for all your help, and I thought perhaps, I should …well … perhaps warn you that my paternity might become public knowledge.”  
Foyle swallowed and quietly stated, “I would be very proud to acknowledge you as my son, Jack.”  
“Thank you. And you have no idea what a relief it was to know you are my father and I was not Charles Devereaux’s son,” Jack shook his head and lowered his eyes, “But, if the truth is revealed, Sir, your reputation will be ruined. I was worried for you and your family. Your son, Andrew has quite a bright future and you both may well be accosted by reporters. I did not realise your wife was deceased.”  
Foyle took in his son’s statement slowly, dissecting it piece by piece. Jack’s statement revealed an enormous amount of goodness in his son.  
“Jack, you didn’t contact me before this because you thought …hmmm... you thought it might cause a problem with Andrew or my wife?” Foyle bit his lip and brought his hand up to his son’s arm. Foyle gently touched his jacket.  
“Yes, I do not want to … hmmm. I would not like for you or your life to be harmed by who I am,” Jack lifted his eyes. Jack seemed to be only concerned for him, a man he barely knew. Foyle squinted and controlled the emotions he felt. Foyle closed his eyes; he hadn’t felt true devotion from anyone since Rosalind had died. He knew Andrew cared for him but Andrew saw him as a father that would take care of everyone else, and there was no need to worry about him. Foyle admitted he was partly responsible for Andrew’s casual attitude; he had been determined not to burden Andrew with his grief. This young man, without even knowing him, was concerned for Foyle’s reputation and family.  
“Jaacck, Rosalind knew about you before we were married,” Foyle began resolutely. He took another breath, “Andrew knows about you being his brother. I told him just before I last visited you in prison.”  
Jack looked a little stunned at Foyle’s statement, and he registered the information slowly, “You told your wife before you were married?”  
“Wull, I couldn’t very much propose without doing so. It would have been ethically wrong, and as I told Rosalind, I was, and I still am quite prepared to acknowledge you as my son,” Foyle stated firmly, “Your mother made me promise never to contact her, but I told everything to Rosalind. I told her about the war, Caroline and you. Rosalind said she most liked the story of you. She said it was the very best part of my life and then she said she wanted to marry me.”  
Jack stared at his father giving him a small smile.  
“My father was Superintendent on the force here in Hastings. I was able to join the force at sixteen. That was in December of 1915. The war had started and there was already a shortage of men. I enlisted in August of 1916. I met your mother in July of 1918 as a 1st Lieutenant. I was promoted by attrition and wull, honestly, I have no idea how I lasted the three years,” Foyle took a deep breath and scratched his forehead, “I had been injured and your mother was the only wonderful thing I had known for a long time. I was a mere eighteen years old and I thought I would be dead any day. It’s not an excuse; it was just the War.  
“Thank you for telling me. I can understand how you felt,” Jack stared at Foyle for a good minute before stating, “I only wished to prevent reporters from hounding you or Andrew. If you will, Sir, please let me say I do not know who my father is.”  
Foyle bit his lip while he closed one eye to briefly give Jack a firm questioning look.  
Jack returned, “It would be best for you and Andrew.”  
“Jaacck,” Foyle said softly, “You know I don’t think I can do what you ask, but it may not come to light. Which hospital did you leave? Tell me the names of any nurses and doctors who saw you. Perhaps, there is something to be done there.”  
Jack’s eyes opened wider, as Foyle saw his face lift, “Do you think you could do something?”  
“Yup, I am a retired DCS, and I have some friends still with the intelligence community,” Foyle gave him a short smile, “There’s no guarantee, but you need to stop worrying. Let us see what I can do tomorrow. Please write down all the information regarding the hospital and then we can see if there’s still a small slice of that Christmas Pudding.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, for the delay on this chapter... this one took me longer then expected to cut... it really needed cutting... Next, Part II coming up.... soon I hope.

CHAPTER 4

Sam took young Christopher up to Andrew's old room. Mr Foyle had left with Jack Devereaux a good fifteen minutes before, and she could hear hush undertones coming from the two men as she made her way upstairs.

As Sam started to feed the baby, she pondered the exchange between Mr Foyle and the arrival of Jack Devereaux. Of course, she knew of him. It had made all the papers. His conviction as a traitor, then the revelation of his heroism, and at the same time the horrific news of his father having murdered his mother. Sam had read about it all. It was strange that Mr Foyle welcomed Jack into his home with such openness. When she arrived, Mr Foyle's greeting was with more reserve than this young man. Sam considered Mr Foyle not quite family, but a very close friend. She knew he cared for her. In what way, Sam had never pinpointed. Some may say he had treated her as perhaps a daughter, but she knew Mr Foyle quite well and how he behaved with Andrew; Mr Foyle had never in anyway regarded her as his daughter. A friend, indeed, and yes, Sam often caught his eyes in amusement, or he would set his eye on her affectionately, but what passed between them was friendly, caring and respect as individuals. The way Sam saw it, it was a bond and caring of family, but since they were not family, she always had thought of Mr Foyle as her most trusted friend. 

Sam smiled at her train of thought. She remembered laughing with Adam when once he had accused Sam of having an intellectual crush on Mr Foyle. Thinking on it now, Sam so genuinely admired and respected Mr Foyle; Sam conceded she had not married during the war so she could remain in his employ. She freely admitted she found Mr Foyle’s male qualities often lacking in most men in those war years. Perhaps, her reasons not to marry then had been directly correlated with her “crush”, as Adam put it, with Mr Foyle. Admittedly, Mr Foyle was still firmly on the pedestal she had placed him. His mannerisms were so unique, when he cared for someone it was subtle, yet ironclad. Sam had yearned for his approval and valued opinion. Most certainly this guided her judgement during the war years and even while she worked for him in London.

Returning to Jack’s arrival, Sam frowned. She knew Mr Foyle, and he had certainly treated Jack as a firm friend but underneath Sam unmistakable detected a warmth he had only displayed with Andrew. At one point, Sam witnessed Mr Foyle gazed on Jack with the same sorrow she saw him display when he visited Rosalind’s grave. Sam bit her lip; it was eerie to catch the undertones of both facial and body language of the two men. She hoped that Mr Foyle would be able to help Jack, he seemed a very genuine young man. Mr Foyle seemed to be so very relaxed and outwardly warm toward the other man, that Sam was sure there was more to their relationship than mere acquaintance. She had no evidence other than her in-depth knowledge of Christopher Foyle. 

Sighing, she set her head back and held her young man close. Christopher Foyle had always intrigued her, and it appeared that nothing had changed in the last eight years. Sam smiled and shrugged.

*************************************************************************************

Foyle walked behind Jack into the front room where Andrew and Eve were snuggled up on the couch. Foyle smiled at them and offered his chair to Jack and came around to sit on the other side of Eve.

“So…. Eve,” Foyle crossed his right leg over his left turning to her with a twinkle in his eyes, “You’ve..mmm... decided you could possibly take on the likes of Andrew?”

“Well, Mr Foyle,” Eve addressed him seriously, “Andrew seems to be a perfectly respectable young man.”

Andrew looked beyond Eve across at his father with a wide grin, but then Eve continued, “Of course, I’m sure his good behaviour is all due to your keeping him firmly grounded as a policeman’s son. You have done a fine job, but I can see many times where I will need your guidance to keep him firmly in place.”

Foyle could barely keep his mouth from twitching and returning Andrew’s smug look. Andrew looked quite taken back and Eve had to bite her lower lip to remain serious.

“Wull… of course any time,” Foyle returned, “Have to warn you, hee’s... a bit of work.”

Jack watched the exchange, and Christopher caught his eyes with affectionate amusement, and Foyle directed his comment to Jack, “You see, Jack, ... very hard to grow up the son of a police detective. Andrew...mmm... not always apt to finishing his maths.”

Andrew laughed outright at that and gave Jack conspiratorial wink, “Don’t you believe it! I attended Oxford a year earlier than expected and was top in my class,” Andrew paused and saw his father shift as his father gave Eve a “here we go” look. Andrew ignored this and smiled back at Jack, “The intelligence is from my mother’s side.”

Foyle gave a chuckled huff and completely ignored Andrew, “Jack, Eve … time for more tea.”

Foyle stood and took the empty tray as Eve replied, “I’ll help.”

Eve insisted and Foyle returned a welcoming smile.

This left Andrew and Jack alone in the living room, and Foyle thought he managed that very well indeed. It also had the added benefit of a private moment alone with Eve.

Christopher was quite pleased with himself as he led his future daughter-in-law to the kitchen.

“Mr Foyle, I’m so happy to meet you finally,” Eve smiled at him. Christopher guessed that she was in her mid-twenties and appeared to want to make a good impression. He sensed it and that she was unsure of what he really thought. She perhaps thought he did not approve. Naturally, Foyle was reserved by nature and bit his lip knowing he should make an effort to reassure his soon to be daughter-in-law. Foyle set the last dish to dry and gestured for Eve to sit at the table.

“Eve, I ...juust want you to know I’m verry happy for you both,” Foyle smiled and nodded. Normally, anyone, who knew him well, would have accepted his statement. Eve did not know him. Foyle intended to make her feel as warmly welcome as possible. Foyle smiled again and lightly place the tips of his fingers along the top of her hand, “hmmm... very much looking forward to having a daughter now.”

Foyle could see he got it right as Eve returned with a broad smile, “Thank you, Mr Foyle.”

A minute passed quietly then Foyle asked softly.

“Mr Foyle … hmm a bit formal, yes?” Foyle suggested with a tilt and nod of his head, “Dad?”

Eve nodded back. Then the kettle started to whistle and Christopher got up and went to steep the tea.

************************************************************************************************************

As his father left the room with Eve, Andrew recognised how brilliant his Dad completely manoeuvred this moment between Jack and himself. Andrew had forgotten how his father could read him, in such an effortless manner. Though his father was a very reserved man verbally, in actions and mannerism, Andrew had always known how his father felt towards him.

Andrew stood up and pushed his hands into his pockets, “Jack, I have wanted to meet you for a long time. I hope this visit means we could get to know one another?”

Jack’s small smile reached his eyes and he shifted uncertainly.

“Bit awkward meeting like this, but I’m glad of it,” Andrew jokingly added with a gentle chuckle attempting to put Jack at easy.

“I had not expected Mr Foyle to have told you,” Jack said softly, “I am in a bit of …... well rather in a dilemma, but I hope your father can help. If that is the case, perhaps you and I could meet up in London soon?”

Jack smiled very lightly. Andrew took a deep breath as the smile reminded him very much of his Dad. Andrew grinned backed, “Absolutely, yes let’s.”

Andrew didn’t push to set a date, sensing some hesitation in Jack. He really wanted to become friends with his brother, but he thought perhaps his father could smooth a path for them. Of course, lots of his friends were still recovering from the war and Jack, Andrew knew, had just as many, if not more, harrowing experiences than he himself. 

‘Jack, not to worry, Dad will have it all fixed up, if at all possible,” Andrew gave his brother a half grin and nodded, “Really, Dad is brilliant. He has gotten me out of so many jams, and that’s just in the last six years.”

Jack shyly smiled back. Andrew could see that he was quite reserved and it seemed Jack really did take after their father. Andrew kept himself from verbalizing that thought, but found it quite comforting.

“From what I know of Mr Foyle, he is an exceptional police detective.” Jack eyed Andrew cautiously and stood up nervously.

Andrew nodded in agreement, and Jack continued quietly, “Your father quite literally saved my life.”

‘When he told me about you, I hardly believed it,” Andrew sighed, “Came as quite a shock. Dad’s so… hmmm well... so above board and not just at home but with work. Really with everything.”

‘That's very good to know,” Jack shyly smiled, “Well, if it is at all possible I would … very much like to get to … know you both.”

“We will, … most definitely,” Andrew responded and then turned as he heard Eve laughing and his father's low chuckle, “Tea must be ready.”

**********************************************

Sam had held the baby for quite some time. She heard Eve and Mr Foyle come in the kitchen, so she settled in for a little longer and continued contemplating Mr Foyle and Andrew. They had exchanged several telling looks when the young man, Jack Devereaux, had arrived and something between the three of them passed in that living room. Sam could only define it as a feeling of expectation. The quiet joy in Mr Foyle's face was unexpected and undeniable. Oh, Christopher Foyle was not an easy person to read, but Sam had studied the man for six or seven years in mostly close proximity. Sam smiled. She could almost tell what he was feeling or sensed his mood change without even looking or with the slightest of hand movements. The more reserved Foyle became the better Sam could read him. 

So, she now was still sitting in Andrew's bed, holding young Christopher as he slept. She was delighted as she heard Eve and Mr Foyle making their way back to the front room, she placed the baby in the bassinet and made for the loo. Finally, she left Andrew's door open and ascended the stairs to the kitchen. All was clear, so she stepped back into the living room to join the rest of the group.

“Oh good. More tea,” Sam address the room with a smile.

Foyle smiled with closed lips and his eyes twinkled at her, “Sam, it is verrry good news that ...suumethings never change.”

Sam grinned back at Foyle and they exchanged the knowing look of a deep and long, shared past. 

Foyle quietly relaxed as the group talked of England’s future, of Europe and Sam’s long sighing question of “when will rationing end?”. In the back of his mind, he contemplated the weighty matter of Peter Harrison. More importantly, with luck, he had a way of dispatching Jack’s problems. Foyle’s mind quieted, as he settled on the next day’s objectives.


End file.
